


One Hundred and Fifty

by Measured



Category: Radiant Historia
Genre: Community: fic_promptly, Hero Worship, Other, Spoilers, Unrequited Crush
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-28
Updated: 2013-05-28
Packaged: 2017-12-13 05:41:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,315
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/820651
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Measured/pseuds/Measured
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>How was he to explain this? The feeling that there had been an invisible hand on his life, guiding him, guarding him?</p><p>All he could think is of the Prophet Noah, and of platitudes repeated. And then there was a memory of a man in red, cutting through his thoughts of anything divine. He had kept the dreams of the man in red a secret. They consumed him, both a distraction and a directing force.</p>
            </blockquote>





	One Hundred and Fifty

**Author's Note:**

> fic_promptly, Radiant Historia, any char. having a crush on Stocke, the swordsman in red. Spoils...about everything, right up to the end.
> 
> Timeline starts on the SH where Stocke never went with Rosch.

One stroke, two strokes, three. He wouldn't stop until he reached one hundred. His swordsmanship had improved a lot lately, so much so that even Commander Rosch had noticed. More than just ceremonial sword dancing, Kiel had learned real skills. When practicing with Fenlen the other day, he even managed to parry a hit which would've knocked him down, and then turned it over so that he knocked Fenlen down instead. It'd been a small victory, but Kiel had treasured it for what it was: a beginning.

"You must've had a good teacher," Rosch remarked one day upon seeing him practice.

He didn't fully remember, but this sort of thing wasn't gained by mere practice in a day, was it? Had he really had the skills all along, or maybe there was someone..

"Whoever it is, I'm very grateful, sir! It's saved me on the battlefield more than once!"

Rosch nodded, and moved on. He had paperwork to fill out, and an army to command.

Kiel cut the air again. Four strokes, five strokes, six.

How was he to explain this? The feeling that there had been an invisible hand on his life, guiding him, guarding him?

All he could think is of the Prophet Noah, and of platitudes repeated. And then there was a memory of a man in red, cutting through his thoughts of anything divine. He had kept the dreams of the man in red a secret. They consumed him, both a distraction and a directing force.

*

There was a thought deep in him, like a dream he couldn't recall the details of upon waking. There was something he should be remembering, someone.

But when he tried, the memories just escaped him.

He tried for one hundred and twenty strokes of his sword that day. The burn didn't erase the odd unease of that lost memory, but it made it feel like his gratitude could show through to that unseen hand.

*

Kiel's sword was lifted up without even a hint of the tremors he felt inside. He'd be nothing but canon fodder, but he'd save them all. When he started on this, he'd known the possibilities, he'd known that he would most likely fail.

Kiel held to his sword, convinced to strike at least one last blow. He leapt up, his sword hitting metal in a perfect strike. If this were fencing and practice, Commander Rosch might compliment him.

This wasn't practice any longer; this was war. 

After that perfect stroke, Kiel felt the first strike, much harder than any practice blow or animal they'd fought so far. All his dreams of honor and playing at war began to fade away. He was here, the realities of death soon to come.

At least his commander would make it out alive.

Just as they closed around him, a man in red cut through them with more skill and power than Kiel had ever seen. He gaped, slack-jawed as the breeze caught the man's red scarf up. His strength was almost inhuman as he took blow after blow without even flinching and struck down the guards as if they were little more than practice dummies. 

Kiel fell to the ground, aching and worn out. He would never survive through this swordsman. He wasn't sure he'd ever get that much skill, even if he trained his whole life.

"I'm done for..."

"Not this time, Kiel," the man said.

Kiel looked up suddenly as he felt himself wrapped in the white light of a healing spell. The man knew his name?

"Um, sir, I—"

"The rest of the regiment are beyond this path. Take the long path, cut back towards Alistel and avoid all skirmishes. You'll meet up with Rosch eventually."

"Ah, thank you—thank you very much, sir!"

The man didn't respond. He looked over his shoulder—were there more men coming? Kiel pushed himself up, the weariness from his muscles not entirely gone, but healed enough to go on.

"Hey, mister—" Kiel looked over and saw nothing, not even a hint of red. The man hadn't even said goodbye.

*

And just as he said, they made it. They limped along, the losing army wearily making their way home, but they were _alive_. Through the woods, the young lions made their way back to Alistel. They might not have had their honor anymore, but at least they had their lives.

Kiel made sure to practice every day, even when he was tired from walking. If the man ever came into his life again, Kiel wouldn't want to disappoint him, not when he owed the swordsman so much.

*

He met her at the graves, _their_ graves. It was jarring to see Sonja putting flowers on the rows of markers. Fenlen and Kiel and Krythis, all thought to be casualties of war.

Sonja caught sight of them. The flowers dropped to the ground, and in seconds Kiel felt himself being lifted up by Commander Rosch. For a moment, everything was a confusing mess of joy. Like the chaos of war, but something he thought he'd never see again.

"There was a man who saved us. A swordsman in red," Kiel said above the din of the crowd.

"A man in red?" Sonja said.

"I see, so that's how it is. We'll just have to wait until he shows himself," Commander Rosch said.

"You know him? You think he'll come again? I hope he does as well! I-I didn't get to thank him properly, you see. A debt of honor like that...I'll be paying him back my whole life just to be worthy!"

Commander Rosch chuckled. "If you want to pay him back, then just keep training. He isn't the sort to hold to debts."

Commander knew the man that well? Then again, it was no surprise. Commander Rosch was just that extraordinary, after all.

"I've never stopped training a single day!" Kiel burst out. Sonja laughed.

"I am glad you weren't taken from us, Kiel. The world is a sadder place without you in it."

What once would've made him blush only filled him with happiness. Unattached, unromantic happiness. She touched to his shoulder and the feelings he felt for her were far more sisterly, now. He could never harbor feelings for his commander's wife, even in secret, for it would be too large a betrayal.

"...Do you really think I'll ever see him again?"

Her smile was enigmatic. "I think you'll meet him again someday."

"I certainly hope so!" Kiel said.

Until then, he'd just have to keep training until he was worthy to stand in the presence of such a swordsman again.

*

He kept the man in his thoughts. When he closed his eyes, he could remember through the feeling of shock, the certainty that he was going to die, and then a man in red. His back was broad, and he was turned away, with a scarf around his neck caught in the wind. He seemed so composed, so in control of himself. So assured.

He was the most impressive man Kiel had ever seen. Handsome and mysterious, and talented in swordsmanship in ways Kiel could only dream of. No matter where his thoughts went, the man stayed close in them. But he was more than just a hero; he was something to live up to. If someone else could achieve that kind of power, then if Kiel really tried, maybe one day he'd be like that.

Kiel pulled his scarf up, his cheeks hot, but he couldn't quite tell why his heart had suddenly started beating so fast. Maybe it was just the joy of training? The joy of feeling the sword in his hand and knowing that one day he'd be a true soldier, and that he was one step closer to that dream.

He smiled as he cut the air. He would try for one hundred and fifty strokes today.


End file.
